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Desdmona's Erotic Story Contests
2005 Erotic 2000-Word Short Story Contest
Honorable Mention

The Trial of Emily

I struggled to keep my eyes down. I didn’t want the angry crowd – the good villagers I had grown up with these past twenty years – to see the terror on my face. Neither could I look upon Samuel Collins, a young man I used to call neighbor but who had with his black words turned all against me. But mostly, I dared not look at Jonathan Ellis, our new village magistrate. I could not stand to see those lips twisted into scorn when all I had thought about since his arrival six months ago was how those same lips would feel against my naked skin.

“Emily Rayburn is the Devil’s instrument,” Samuel said. I felt his words cut me like the stones that had torn open my feet after his cronies had ripped me from my home this morning and dragged me here.

“She is a vile witch like no other.”

The crowd cheered. I tasted bile on my tongue.

“Silence,” Jonathan said. “I cannot proceed in this chaos.”

The crowd quieted. I could not bear it a moment longer. I lifted my eyes and saw Jonathan’s handsome face stern and furious as he stared at the villagers. My heart scrambled up my throat. Even with my very life at stake, my desire for Jonathan shook me.

“I’ve heard nothing so far, Samuel that would lead me to the conclusion of witchcraft,” Jonathan said. I held my breath. Samuel would have this day end only with me declared a witch. He would not desist. If only I had given in to his demands two days past, I could have spared myself. But even facing potential death, I shuddered at the thought of lying with the foul breathed, wretched Samuel Collins. No, I would never lie with Samuel. Never.

“You’ve not heard the most damning evidence.” Samuel locked his cold, gray eyes on me. “For the past week, this Devil’s daughter has come to me in dreams. Every night. Always the same. I feel a presence behind me – a dark, evil presence – and when I turn, I see Emily Rayburn. Her dark hair falls loosely around her face. Her lips are as red as an open wound. Her eyes burn with a fierceness only the Devil himself could summon. And she is naked. Her skin so tantalizing I cannot help but touch myself.”

A gasp came from the back of the hall.

“’Tis but a dream,” Jonathan said and, I noticed his voice lower than before. I gripped my shaking hands together.

“More than a dream. More than temptation. The tips of her round breasts are the color of the Devil’s tongue. The hair around her womanhood dark and deep. She licks her lips with a forked tongue and begins Satan’s dance. She juts her hips forward, arches her back and runs her fair fingers down her smooth skin to her womanhood. She slides three fingers into herself and thrusts savagely.” Samuel was breathing hard, his words coming out like pelted rocks.

I desperately wanted to look away, but I could not. My eyes wouldn’t let me.

“Is there more?” Jonathan asked, his voice turned raspy as though he, too, had difficulty breathing.

Samuel nodded. He pointed at me. “That witch would not be satisfied with that disgusting act. No. She took her slick fingers and ... ”

Silence. Deep. Long.

“Yes. Go on,” Jonathan said.

“... wiped them on my lips.”

Someone in the back shrieked. There was a rustle and a moment later I saw Goody Richardson stumble out the hall’s wooden door.

Jonathan quieted the crowd once more. Samuel continued.

“She makes me to suck on her fingers, all that have been inside of her. By now, my manhood is so engorged, it pains me. With her teeth, she tears the clothes from me and kneels before my private area. I pray to God to release me, but the Devil is upon me good and sure.” Samuel stared at me, his eyes wide and crazed. He gestured to his manhood. “She takes me into her mouth and licks me like I am a delicacy. With her devil lips she sucks, and with her razor teeth she teases and prods. I try to push her away, but her strength is like that of ten. She holds firm and pulls me deeper into her mouth. I cry out and but a moment later, I release my seed. This only sets her to more frenzy.”

“No!” It was a Martha Tailor. “I cannot hear another word.”

Jonathan bade Mr. Potter to escort Goody Tailor out of the hall. Then, Jonathan glanced at me. I held my breath, prepared for the hate in his eyes, but I did not see it. Indeed, I saw in his face something that only stirred me deep inside.

He turned to Samuel.

“What happens next?” Jonathan removed his outer coat. So drenched in sweat was his shirt that it clung to his body. I could make out the line of his chest, the dark buds of his nipples, the hair that trails from his belly button to his manhood.

The lower half of my body flushed. I went wet between my legs.

“She takes me again and again in her tight mouth, and each time I reach the point emission, she shrieks and licks me off with her needy, hot tongue. She laughs at my pain, at my desperation. She begins again. My cock grows so hard I feel it will split in two. She forces me to shove myself deep inside her backside. I beg for mercy but there is none. I drain myself again and again into her and know I am meeting Satan each time.”

Someone cried out. Another shouted. Yet another lobbed an apple at my head. In the chaos I heard familiar voices calling me a witch and ordering that I be burned alive.

My vision blurred. My knees wavered. As I struggled to keep my bearings, I heard Jonathan shouting.

“Quiet. There will be justice. But not this moment. I must confer with the Grand Jury and then you will have your burning.”

The crowd cheered. I could bear no more. All went black as I fainted.

I woke in the tame light of dusk. I lay on a bench. I opened my eyes and sat up slowly, acutely aware of my fear and humiliation. I saw then that Jonathan and I were alone.

“You’re awake.” He rose from the chair in which he sat.

He began to pace. He tapped his chin with one finger. “Do you know what circumstances brought me to this village?”

I shook my head. I knew only that my life had changed the moment I saw his beautiful face. I wished, too, my life would not end without him knowing how much I desired and – yes, it’s true – loved him.

“As magistrate of another town, six girls accused of witchcraft were brought before me. I tried putting sense into the townspeople, but the more I tried, the farther away my goal slipped from me. Soon justice was out of my hands and in the hands of a jury. Though I fought against the superstitious lies, my words became as meaningful as a boar’s grunt. Those six girls were hanged by their necks. I could not save them.” He stopped and shook his head.

“Just as you cannot save me,” I said.

He snapped his head up and stared hard. Though he would send me to my death, still I ached to touch his lips, to feel his skin on mine.

His eyes narrowed. He stepped toward me.

I was shaking, but I did not know if it was with fear or from Jonathan’s proximity. I could smell his scent, feel the heat of his body.

“I should not have let Samuel go on so.” He turned away and I felt a great shame. Did Jonathan believe I had come to Samuel in his dreams and done those wicked things? Oh, God, let it not be so.

“But there is no turning back now,” he said.

“So you condemn me?” The words came out as a whisper.

With one movement, he snatched my hand and placed it to his lips. He kissed my palm, my wrist. His tears fell onto my forearm.

I jolted. I gasped. I did not dare dream what this meant. I expected death, you see, not this.

“Forgive me,” he said as he dropped to the ground before me.

“What am I to forgive?” My hands would not steady. My voice broke. But what I saw before me was not a man ready to sentence a woman to trial. What I saw before me was what I had imagined time and time again – a man full of desire and need.

“I was selfish to let Samuel go on so in front of all. But the images he conjured moved and stirred me so ... ” He took deep, gasping breath. “I was wrong. Forgive me. Let me ease your suffering ... ” He slid my shift up over my hips and kissed my trembling calf. My womanhood dripped with invitation. I placed my hands on his shoulders. Oh, so bold was I! My breathing came as though I labored. He kissed my knees, ran his tongue over my thigh. I shivered as his mouth moved up toward the slit of my womanhood. He kissed me there sweetly at first. His tongue lapped my juices. He kissed harder. I arched into him. I took his head into my hands. He grabbed my backside and shoved me into his face, onto his tongue. The pleasure, oh, the pleasure! I burst into a thousand pieces – each one perfect, divine.

A moment later, his mouth was over mine. His tongue on my tongue. He tasted of my slick juices. I wanted to devour him. I kissed him deeper and fuller. He moaned. I reached for his male part – the part I had never seen let alone touched.

“Oh, yes,” he said in a broken voice as he removed his clothes.

He was beautiful! His waist tapered, his legs firm, his male member erect, thick. I took his cock into my mouth. He moaned.

“My lovely,” he said. I drew him in and brought him to explosion.

We collapsed into each other’s arms. Our heartbeats slowed together as we held tight.

“You must leave tonight. Get as far from here as you can and never return. I’ve arranged a horse, blankets, food.”

I began to cry.

“You’ve done a great thing for me. I am forever grateful,” I said.

He ran a finger over my wet cheek. “Then why do you cry, dear heart?”

I stared into his gentle eyes and said it then at last. “Because I love you.”

He smiled then, took my hips and slid into me. I had thought I had experienced pleasure moments before, but this, this, was exquisite. His naked skin against mine, his face so near and filled with an intensity I have never seen. And his manhood filling me up, stirring my soul, making me cry out. The ultimate pleasure was soon upon me, wave after wave. And then he followed. He grunted, closed his eyes and spoke the Lord’s name.

He caught his breath finally and kissed my hand. “We must make haste.”


“Ah, yes.” He said as helped me up. “Did I not mention there are two horses and that I am coming with you?”

I stared for but a moment, then smiled. “Ahh, then yes, let’s make haste.”

“And one more thing,” he said.


“I love you, too.”

Veronica spent several years working as a psychology research assistant until she finally came to her senses. Now, she runs a small online business and writes erotic fiction and horror. She has a short story published in Peep Show Volume 1, a UK sex horror anthology, and upcoming stories in All Hallows, On Spec Magazine and Brutarian Magazine.

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To: Veronica Arch

Desdmona's Erotic Story Contests
2005 Erotic 2000-Word Short Story Contest
Honorable Mention